Living His Life
by Sling the Newsie
Summary: A story about Spot Conlons life
1. Part 1

Part I  
-------  
"But Aunt Breanna, I don't wanna move ta New York!" protested the little boy. "I won't like it there! I like it here, in Pittsburgh!"  
"Nonsense, Michael. You don't know what's best for you yet," his Aunt Breanna told him. "Have you packed all your things?"  
  
"Yes, Aunt Breanna," he sighed.  
  
"And you, Sally?"  
  
"Yes, Momma," Michael's sixteen-year-old cousin said.  
  
"Then what is that slingshot doing in your pocket?" she asked sternly.  
  
"I wanna keep it with me!"  
  
"You put that in the trunk, Michael."  
  
"No! I wanna keep it with me!"  
  
"Michael..."  
  
"Aunt Breanna, please?"  
  
The woman looked down at the little boy. She sighed. "Fine, you may keep it with you. But if you lose it, don't come crying to me!"  
  
"Or me," added Sally.  
  
Michael stuck his tongue out in her direction.  
  
"Momma, Michael st-"  
  
"I did not!" protested Michael.  
  
"You didn't even hear what I had to say!"  
  
"I know what you were gonna say!"  
  
"What?" taunted Sally, who still quarreled with her cousin like a child.  
  
"You were gonna say that I stuck my tongue out at you, and I didn't!"  
  
"You did!"  
  
"Hush, the both of you! I don't want to hear the two of you bickering back and forth. It'll be a long train ride to New York."  
  
Sally climbed into the waiting carriage. Michael scrambled up beside her, and Aunt Breanna followed. "Say goodbye to Pittsburgh, children."  
  
"Oh, Momma, must we leave? We were so happy here! Besides, I've got to leave Elizabeth and Sarah and Emily and Margaret behind! And my school, and all my other friends, and Thomas-"  
  
"Now, Sally, there will be plenty of friends to make in New York City! Many more. And better schools. I'll be able to have a better job, and…"  
  
Michael tuned his aunt and cousin out and watched the Monogahela River roll by lazily. He had been born seven years ago, in 1883. Michael had lived in Ohio on a small farm for five years, with three pretty older sisters and both his parents. Maria was the oldest, then Stephanie, and then Dana. Dana was the nicest of them all. She was ten and was quite a tomboy. Michael and Dana had been very best friends until… the accident.  
  
When Michael was five, Dana was nine, Stephanie was fifteen, and Maria was nineteen, the family moved to Pittsburgh. They lived in a small apartment that was very crowded and cramped. The entire family, with the exception of Michael, worked at the factory. Michael wasn't old enough yet.  
  
"Michael! Michael, wake up! It's time for you to go down to Aunt Breanna's!" said Maria cheerfully.  
  
Michael rolled over. "All right, all right, I'm awake, honest!" protested Michael. Then he remembered. "Dana! Dana, it's my birthday! Dana, I'm six! I'm catchin' up ta you, Dana! I'm six! Six whole years old, I'm six!" he cried.  
  
His mother laughed. "Go on, get dressed! When the day's over and we're home, we'll have a surprise for you."  
  
"Oh, Michael, you'll love it!" promised Dana.  
  
"Hush, Dana! Don't tell him!" cried Stephanie, playfully swatting her little sister with a dishtowel. "Hurry, Michael! Breakfast is almost ready!"  
  
"Don't I have time fer a bath?" he moaned. He loved soaking in the porcelain bathtub until his skin turned wrinkly and the water was cold.  
  
"Of course! It's your birthday, isn't it?" asked Maria.  
  
Michael grinned and ran for the bathtub. By the time he was done, breakfast was waiting.  
  
"Happy birthday, Michael!" said everyone as he sat down.  
  
Maria set down a plate of pancakes in front of him and kissed him.  
  
"Aww, don't, Maria!" he protested, squirming away. Stephanie and his mother just laughed. Michael blushed. He didn't like people laughing at him. He started eating his breakfast.  
  
"Here, Michael! I got you something!" said Dana.  
  
"Fer me?" asked Michael. Even at six, he knew money was scarce, and there hadn't been birthday presents for a while.  
  
Dana nodded and shyly presented him with a package wrapped in the previous day's newspaper.  
  
Michael tore off the paper. "A slingshot! Oh, golly, thanks, Dana! This is the best present in the world!" He lunged at her and hugged her, knocking them both over.  
  
"Ow!" cried Dana, rubbing her head but laughing. "Be careful there! When I get home from the factory, I'll teach you how to shoot it!"  
  
"Not in here you won't," warned Dana's mother. "Come on, Michael. Run down to Aunt Breanna's. She'll be glad to see the birthday boy!"  
  
"But Sally's awful mean!" protested Michael. "I'm just glad she's at her fancy girls' school all day!"  
  
"Michael. She's your cousin! Now be nice, and be a good boy!" His mother kissed him. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too, Ma! Bye Day! Bye Stephie! Bye Maria! Bye Pa!" Michael clattered down the stairs, prepared to spend the day having Aunt Breanna's friends fuss over how adorable he was.  
  
The day was long for little Michael, and the only thing that kept him from going through Sally's cosmetics was the surprise Ma had promised. It was tough, since he loved playing practical jokes on Sally. Mixing her rouge and powder together had gotten a rather wonderful reaction from Sally. And hiding all her tiny hairpins all over her room was fun. But Michael managed to be good for the whole day.  
  
"Aunt Breanna, shouldn't Ma and Pa and Stephie and Maria and Day be home by now?" asked Michael anxiously. "They promised a special surprise!"  
  
"It *is* rather late," said Aunt Breanna thoughtfully.  
  
"Thomas is picking me up at eight to go to the theater," said Sally. "I'm going to get ready. Momma, did you press my best dress?"  
  
"Yes, Sally. It's in your room."  
  
"You didn't touch it, did you Michael?" asked Sally anxiously. "If you did…"  
  
"I didn't!" cried Michael. "Aunt Breanna, where are they?"  
  
"I don't know, Michael. Here, have some of this vegetable stew."  
  
  
  
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Michael stayed up all night waiting for Dana to come bouncing into Aunt Breanna's apartment, but she never came. Sally went off to the theater and came home again. The night came and went, and Michael's family still didn't come.  
  
"Where's Dana?" asked Michael, tears filling his eyes.  
  
Aunt Breanna shook her head. "Come, Michael. We'll go to the factory and see if something's happened."  
  
Michael and Aunt Breanna stepped onto the street. They began walking to the factory.  
  
"Extra! Extra! Hundreds die in factory fire!"  
  
"Aunt Breanna," Michael said, pulling on her skirt. "Buy a paper from him!"  
  
"I don't need one, Michael. No one reads it."  
  
"But he said-"  
  
"Michael, hush!"  
  
"There was a fire in a factory!" he cried, stopping still.  
  
Aunt Breanna turned to Michael. She paused, then went over to the boy and bought a paper. She scanned it quickly, then slowly went over to Michael and stooped down to his level. "Michael… at the factory yesterday…"  
  
"They're dead?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Michael…"  
  
"IS MY FAMILY DEAD?" he screamed, unnoticed tears falling down his face.  
  
Aunt Breanna drew backwards a bit. "Yes… yes, Michael. Michael, I'm-"  
  
Michael pushed her over and took off running. He had no idea where he was going, but did it matter? They were dead. Dana, Stephanie, Maria, his mother, his father… he could only think of the past times. All the good times he and Dana had on their farm in Ohio, the times Stephanie had gotten him out of trouble, the time Maria let Michael help make dinner and didn't even mind when he spilled a cup of sugar.  
  
  
  
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"Michael! Michael, stop daydreaming! Come, get on the train. Hurry, it's going to leave any moment," said Aunt Breanna, shaking his shoulder. "Hold Sally's hand."  
  
"I ain't holdin' no girl's hand!" he protested.  
  
Aunt Breanna shook her head. "Fine. But don't get lost!"  
  
"I won't! I'm seven! I won't get lost!" He followed Aunt Breanna onto the train and sat down in the seat beside the window. He didn't want to leave Pittsburgh. He was leaving everything that he'd ever known behind again.  



	2. Part 2

Part II  
--------  
Michael was very tired and leaned against the cool window to think. Just as he always did when he was deep in thought, he involuntarily grabbed the silver chain he wore around his neck and pulled it out of his shirt. The chain fell to his waist, and a small key dangled on the end. He could remember when he had received it…  
  
"Now don't you go and lose this key, Michael," said Ma sternly. "If there's ever trouble down in Aunt Breanna's apartment, or if you need something when we're not there, you may use it, but never any other time. Never let anyone know that you've got it, all right?"  
  
"Yes, Ma," said Michael, serious for a moment. Ma smiled and kissed him, and the serious moment was over as quickly as it had come. Michael went running off after Dana, only thinking how glad he was that he had a key of his very own!  
  
The very next day, Michael forgot his cap in the apartment. Sally came home, and Aunt Breanna decided to take the two children for a walk by the river.  
  
"But I forgot my cap!" wailed Michael.  
  
"You don't need it. Why do boys wear such ugly caps, anyway?" asked Sally.  
  
Michael glared at her. "Sally-"  
  
"Now, now children. Michael, you can go without."  
  
Michael pouted.  
  
"Wait, Momma, I'm not nearly ready! Just let me fix my hair, and change my dress, and get my hat, and…"  
  
While Sally was still going on about the things she needed to do, Michael glanced around, very quietly opened the door, slipped out, and closed it behind him. He tiptoed up the stairs to his apartment, checked the number on the door, and was beginning to pull the chain out of his shirt when-  
  
"What are you doing up here, you little brat? Get back down to our apartment! Trying to break into your own apartment… you'll be a little thief yet, just wait and see! You'll be living on the streets by the time you're fifteen!" said Sally, grabbing a struggling Michael by his collar.  
  
"Shut up, Sally!" growled Michael.  
  
Sally's eyes widened and she let go of his collar, letting him tumble to the floor. "Momma! Momma! Michael told me…"  
  
Michael groaned and rolled over. He didn't think there would be any bruises or cuts…  
  
  
  
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Michael snapped out of his daydream. He didn't feel like thinking about the past anymore. It hurt to think of Dana, Stephanie, Maria, Ma, and Pa. Yes, they'd been dead for over a year, but the pain hadn't faded. If anything, the memories had grown more painful in the year Michael had spent living with Aunt Breanna and Sally. He didn't go to school, for Aunt Breanna was spending all of her money dressing Sally in fancy clothes and sending her to a private girls' school. Michael spent his days at home, "helping" Aunt Breanna and thinking about his family.  
  
"I'm hungry," Michael suddenly said, turning to Aunt Breanna.  
  
"Is food the only thing you think about?" asked Sally harshly.  
  
"Sh… be quiet, Sally," Michael corrected himself. "Can't I go back to the dining car? I know where it is!"  
  
Aunt Breanna thought for a moment. "Yes, but only if Sally goes with you."  
  
"Momma! I'm ashamed to be seen in public with such a ragged little boy!" whined Sally.  
  
"Hush, Sally. He's too young to go alone."  
  
"No I ain't!"  
  
"Yes, you are," said Aunt Breanna sternly. "Go on, now."  
  
Sally made faces as Michael climbed over Aunt Breanna and started to the dining car. They walked back through the cars, and were about halfway to the dining car when there was a loud cracking noise. Michael and Sally turned to see the first few cars of the train break apart from the rest. The cars picked up momentum and flew over a cliff. In only a moment, they would be sure to follow.  
  
"Quick! We've got to jump!" shouted a man, pushing Sally and Michael onto the small step between the cars. "Jump!" he ordered.  
  
Michael scrambled up on top of the railing surrounding the step and jumped off into the grass. Sally tumbled off beside him, followed by that man.  
  
"Are you two all right?" he asked, sitting up.  
  
Michael nodded.  
  
"Thank you ever so much, Mr.…" said Sally, reached out to shake his hand.  
  
"Conlon. Thomas Conlon. You are…?"  
  
"Sally Elizabeth Winters. This is my cousin, Michael."  
  
"You're very brave, Michael," said Mr. Conlon. "Where are you two from?"  
  
"We're from Pittsburgh, and we're going to New York. Oh, what are we going to do? Momma's dead, and we've got nowhere to go!" sobbed Sally.  
  
"Calm down, Miss Winters. I've got a boarding house that you're welcome to stay in. If you do a bit of work around the boarding house, you can stay there for free."  
  
"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Conlon! We surely appreciate it!" said Sally.  
  



	3. Part 3

Part III  
---------  
So, Sally and Michael arrived in New York City with a friend. Conlon's Boarding House was in Brooklyn, near a pier. Sally and Michael had a small room on the top floor with two small beds, a table, a small stove, and a window looking onto the pier.  
  
During the day, Sally was busy washing windows, sweeping the floors, and making meals for Mr. Conlon. She earned their stay, but she wanted more money for new dresses and things that she'd enjoy. She was growing sick of the only dress she had, and desperately missed her powder, rouge, and other cosmetics. So, Sally turned to… other work…  
  
Meanwhile, every morning Michael went out to play with the boys on the pier. Most of them were newsies, boys who sold the papes for a penny a piece to make their living. They lived in a Newsboys' Lodging House near Conlon's, and always seemed to enjoy each other's company. They were tough boys and often beat up other newsies, but they seemed to like Michael from the first day.  
  
"What's yer name, kid?" one asked.  
  
"What's it to ya?" challenged Michael.  
  
The kid came over to him. "Tell me yer name, or I'se gonna t'row ya in da rivah!"  
  
"I ain't gotta name," said Michael. He didn't want to tell those boys his name.  
  
"Ev'rybody's gotta name, kid!"  
  
"Well, I don't."  
  
"Well den what are we s'posed ta call ya?"  
  
"I dunno," Michael said with a shrug.  
  
"Well, I dunno 'bout you, but I wouldn't wanna be called da kid wit da spotted shoit," the leader of the Brooklyn newsies said.  
  
"Well I ain't got no uddah name, so I guess dat's what it'll be," said Michael. "I gotta last name, dough."  
  
"Well what's dat?"  
  
"Conlon."  
  
"Like da boardin' 'owse?"  
  
"Yeah, like da boardin' 'owse," replied Michael, already beginning to pick up the Brooklyn accent. He liked the Brooklyn accent. Plus, he knew that it would annoy Sally.  
  
"So I guess ya don't need no money. Dat why you ain't a newsie?"  
  
"I ain't a newsie cause I don't know nuttin' 'bout bein' a newsie."  
  
"Well den we'll teach ya," the leader offered.  
  
Michael paused. Money in his pockets… maybe eventually enough to get away from Sally… "Awright," Michael said.  
  
The leader spit on his palm and held his hand out. Michael glanced at him, then imitated the gesture. The Brooklyn newsies cheered as a new newsie was admitted to their clan.  
  
So, Michael began his life as a newsie. He was only seven, the youngest newsie, but could sell as many as any of them. He enjoyed walking around all day long, selling papes. Most of the other boys sold their papes with a partner, but Michael enjoyed the privacy. He had never had privacy, so he wanted as much of it as he could get. Michael had a good sense of direction and soon knew the streets of Brooklyn like the back of his hand.  
  
Michael hid all his money in a sock, which he kept in his pillow. Sally had no idea the money was there. She was beginning to hate her new job. It was stressful and tiring, and she didn't want Mr. Conlon to find out. He was like a kind, loving father to both of the children.  
  
  
  
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One morning, as Michael was heading down the stairs to go out and buy his papes for the day, Mr. Conlon stopped him. "Hello, Michael!"  
  
"Aww, hiya Mistah Conlin! How ya doin'?"  
  
"I'm well, and how are you, Michael?"  
  
"I'se real good." Michael was heading for the door when Mr. Conlon stopped him.  
  
"How would you like to go shopping, get some new clothes? Those ones are getting awfully small for you."  
  
Michael wrinkled up his nose. What would the newsies say when he didn't show up that day? Then he decided that it would be nice to get something new for once. "Awright, I guess so." Mr. Conlon put a hand on Michael's shoulder as they headed out the door. A boy who Michael had seen a few times walked by. The boy was about a year older than Michael was and quite a bit taller, with brown hair. He wasn't a Brooklyn newsie, and Michael didn't know why he was always in their territory. Michael glared at him as he walked by. The newsie laughed.  
  
"What's da mattah witcha, kid? Geemaneez, dese Brooklyn newsies, so territorial…" he laughed. Two other Brooklyn newsies pounced on him, or Michael would've done it himself.  
  
Mr. Conlon and Michael didn't return to the boarding house until nearly noon. Michael ran up to the attic to change into his new clothes. Pulling his gray cap on, he darted out the door and ran to the pier to meet the newsies before the afternoon edition came out. He still had a chance to make some money.  
  
"Hey spotted shoit Conlon, ya ain't got a spotted shoit no more!" noted Red, an older newsie with bright red hair, as he came over to Michael.  
  
"Yeah! Me an' me fadda went shoppin' taday." Michael stopped as that newsie walked by again. The newsie glanced at Michael, laughed, and then continued walking.  
  
"See ya, Cowboy! Ya come back real soon, awright?" called Fish, the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. He got his nickname because he loved swimming.  
  
"'Ey Fish, who's dat?" asked Michael.  
  
"Dat's Cowboy. 'E's da leadah a da Manhattan newsies. An' wheah was ya all day, Spotty?"  
  
"Me fadda took me shoppin'," he replied casually. "C'mon, let's go get some papes, huh?"  
  
  
  
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When Michael returned late that evening, he heard shouting inside the boarding house. As he approached, he could tell it was coming from Mr. Conlon's parlor. He opened the front door and peered in the keyhole. Sally was standing in there, apparently arguing with him.  
  
"I feed you, I clothe you, I give you work here, I provide you with a room for you and your bratty little brother-"  
  
"He is not my brother!"  
  
"And what do you do? You go and do something disgraceful like this!"  
  
"I'm tired of not having any money of my own! Besides, no matter how much you want to be, you're not my father! My father's dead and so is my mother. There isn't anyone left to tell me what to do and I certainly don't need you telling me what to do!"  
  
"Young lady, while you live under this roof, you will obey my rules!"  
  
"If you didn't already know me, you would've hired me and you know it!"  
  
There was a slapping sound. A moment later, the door was thrown open and Sally was thrown to the floor. "I'm giving you ten minutes to get out of my boarding house. You are a disgrace! I hope you end up on the streets with no one to care for you."  
  
Sally glared at him, her cheek beginning to redden. "I hope this awful place burns to the ground! Come on, Michael. We're leaving."  
  
"No, the boy stays with me."  
  
"He is not your concern!"  
  
"You don't care for him the way I do."  
  
Sally grabbed Michael's wrist and nearly dragged him up the stairs.  
  
"Wheah's we goin'?" asked Michael.  
  
"We're moving out. And get rid of that awful accent! It sounds so uncivilized." Sally began shoving her things into pillowcases. "Michael, you are never to talk to Mr. Conlon, ever again. Do you hear me?"  
  
"Wheah's we gonna live now, Sally?" asked Michael as he grabbed his own pillow.  
  
"I told you to stop with that accent!"  
  
Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Where are we going to live now, Sally?" asked Michael, pronouncing each syllable separately.  
  
Sally rolled her eyes. "I don't know. There's quite a few boarding houses we can live in." She paused. "Well, that's all. We're leaving right now."  
  
Michael paused in the doorway, looking back at the fourth home he was leaving. He wondered if he would ever find a true home.  
  



	4. Part 4

Part IV  
--------  
  
That night, Sally found a new boarding house. She and Michael took a room on the second floor, and for a while, everything was going well. Michael left early every morning and joined the newsies for a whole day, selling alone and eating lunch with Red and Fish.  
  
One day, Red, a very observant young man of fourteen, said, "'Ey Spotty… why don't ya nevah come outta Conlon's Boardin' 'owse anymore?"  
  
Michael paused mid-bite, then set down his sandwich. "Uh… me fadda… 'E kicked me out."  
  
"Why?" asked Fish.  
  
"Cause a sumpin' me sistah did. I dunno what, dough. But I'm dyin' ta find out."  
  
"Who's yer sistah? An' what's she look like?"  
  
"Sally Wintahs. She's, uh, 'bout tall as Fish, maybe a lil' bit tallah. Yella 'air, coily, blue eyes, skinny, wears real fancy clothes…"  
  
"Dat 'er?" asked Fish casually, waving his hot dog towards the window.  
  
Michael turned, then ducked. "Geez, I shoah hope she didn't see me!"  
  
A man sitting at the table next to them, who had happened to hear their entire conversation, laughed. "Ya wanna know what she did, kid?"  
  
Michael looked at the man. "How d'ya know what she did? Ya don't even know 'er!"  
  
"Oh, I know 'er, all right," the man said with a laugh. "She's workin' at the saloon."  
  
"What d'ya mean, woikin'? Like a waitress? What's wrong wit dat?" asked Michael innocently.  
  
"Uh, we'll explain it ta ya latah, Spot," said Fish. "C'mon, let's git outta heah."  
  
Michael, Fish, and Red headed for the distribution office slowly. Fish and Red attempted to explain to Michael, and after a few tries, Michael realized what the man had meant.  
  
"Ewww!" cried Michael with a shudder. Fish chuckled.  
  
"So, ya need a place ta stay? Ya can always stay at da lodgin' 'owse fer da newsies. Y'know, wheah we stay. 'Cross da street from da saloon."  
  
Michael nodded. "Yeah, shoah, dat'd be a lot bettah dan livin' wit dat… dat… Jezebel!" Michael finally spat.  
  
Fish nodded and stepped up to the distribution window. "Hundred papes."  
  
"Hundred papes!" the man shouted. "Next!"  
  
"Fifty papes."  
  
"Fifty papes!" the man shouted, slamming the stack of fifty papes down on the counter. Red handed them down to the much-smaller boy, who nearly crumbled under the weight. Michael was a small, skinny kid, but he was stronger than he looked.  
  
"See ya tamarrah, Red. Bye, Fish," Michael called as he headed out to the streets. He walked the streets of Brooklyn alone. A few businessmen returning to their offices for lunch stopped him to buy a pape, but most people left the scrawny little kid alone as he walked to the pier. Michael loved the river. It reminded him of the rivers in Pittsburgh, and how often Stephie or Maria would take him and Dana down to the point where all the three rivers met…  
  
"Don't get too close," Maria called from several yards back.  
  
Michael and Dana disregarded her warning, though, and ran right down to the edge. The water was cold and silverish. The three rivers were wide and enormous, and moved very fast. The February evening was cold and dark, and a few stars poked out from around the clouds. The hill to the left was lit with tiny dots of light, from windows and lampposts. All in all, the night seemed magical.  
  
"'Ey, Spotty, what're ya doin'? Ya got papes ta sell!" shouted Keys, who got his name from his talent to pick any lock.  
  
"Leave me alone, Keys! I'se lookin' at da 'eadlines!" called Michael, opening a pape and glancing it over. Broken Railing on Trolley Leaves Three Injured. Michael smiled, knowing that the headline had potential. Jumping to his feet, Michael grabbed his papes and hurried to the streets.  
  
"Extra! Extra! Trolley's Broken! Hundreds a lives at stake!" shouted Michael. Passers-by swarmed over to buy his papes, and Michael found over half of his papes had been sold. With a grin, he headed to another part of town.  
  
  
  
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That evening, as Michael ate a poorly-cooked dinner with Sally, he asked, "'Ey Sally, wheah d'ya woik?"  
  
She looked panicked. "At the saloon," she answered nervously. "I'm a waitress."  
  
"No you ain't," Michael sneered, sick and tired of Sally and her lies. "I was talkin' ta dis guy in da restrant taday, an' 'e said dat yer a Jezebel."  
  
Sally's eyes grew wide. "You stupid, selfish brat! Who are you to question what I do? I'm feeding you and clothing you for no cost! And what do I get in return? A stupid little brat like you! Get out! Out! Right this instant! I won't stand for it any longer. I hope you like living on the streets!"  
  
"I'se not gonna live on da streets. I'se gonna live wit da newsies. 'Cross da street from da saloon wheah youse a waitress," mocked Michael.  
  
Sally picked up her glass and threw it at him, but she completely missed. Michael jumped out of his chair and grabbed his pillow, reaching for the sock. Sally came after him, looking quite out of her mind and ready to kill. Michael had picked up some good fighting tips from Fish and Red, and within ten seconds, Sally was laying on the floor in a lot of pain. Michael grabbed all his money, all the money of Sally's that he could find, and his cap.  
  
"S'long, Jez," Michael said, shutting the door and heading down the stairs. He walked quickly, because he wasn't sure how soon Sally would recover. Once he was on the street, he pulled on his cap and walked along, alone as usual. He was soon outside a large building with a sign above the door that said "Newsboys' Lodging House." Michael paused, then entered his sixth, and hopefully final, home.  
  



	5. Part 5

Part V  
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A man who looked about sixty was standing behind a desk, writing out papers. "Can I help you?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, uh, how much 's boardin' fer da night?" he asked nervously, shifting from foot to foot.  
  
The door opened, and in walked Fish and that Manhattan newsie. Michael glared at him again, and the newsie grinned.  
  
"'Eya, Spotty! How ya doin'?" asked Fish. "So, ya decided ta stay da night?"  
  
"Yeah, I'se gonna live heah from now on. Me sistah kicked me out cause I was callin' 'er a Jezebel," he said.  
  
"It's ten cents for the first night, five cents every night after that."  
  
Michael nodded and pulled out ten cents. "Heah."  
  
"And what's your name?"  
  
Michael paused. "Spot."  
  
"All right Spot," the man said, taking the coins.  
  
"So, Spot, ya meet Cowboy yet?" asked Fish.  
  
Michael, not taking his glare from "Cowboy," shook his head.  
  
Cowboy grinned even wider, then spit in his palm, and held his hand out. "Da name's Jack Kelly."  
  
Michael eyed the kid suspiciously, then spit into his hand. "Spot Conlon."  
  
Jack nodded slowly. "How old're you?"  
  
"Seven, how old're you?"  
  
"Be nine next week. So, how's ol' Fish heah treatin' ya? 'E push ya off da bridge yet?"  
  
"Nah, dat's my trademark move," said another voice. "'Ey Cowboy, how's it goin'?"  
  
"'Ey Bridge. I'se pretty good, how 'bout you?"  
  
"Real good. Ya want in onna game a pokah? Dealah's 'bout ready ta start."  
  
Fish and Cowboy darted up the stairs, pushing each other in their haste. Michael shook his head and followed.  
  
At the top of the stairs, he stopped. All the newsies already had their bunks picked out, and most shared a bunk bed with their parnter. Michael looked around for an empty bunk, but they all seemed to be full. He took a slow step towards the middle of the room and stepped on a loose floorboard, causing it to squeak loudly.  
  
"'Ey, Spotty!" called Red, grinning. "So, ya decided ta move in, huh?"  
  
"Yep," answered Michael. "So, wheah's a empty bunk, Red? Ya seem ta know yer way 'round dis dump."  
  
Various comments were shouted, and a few of the newsies who happened to be near a bed threw pillows. Michael laughed and batted them away.  
  
"Ya guys outta know by now dat ya can't knock Spot Conlon down, 'specially not wit a pillah!" said Michael as he followed Red over to a bottom bunk. He walked past the spot where Cowboy and another Brooklyn newsie were fighting. Apparently, the Brooklyn newsies didn't like Jack much, but Cowboy held nothing against them.  
  
"Dis is me bunk, and dat's Keys', and Bridge's, and Fish's is ovah dere, but ya can have dis one, next ta me, 'kay?"  
  
Michael nodded. "T'anks, Red."  
  
Then Snake, a newsie just about Michael's age, darted up the stairs. "Spotty!" he shouted. Snake raced over. "Spotty, dere's some goyl downstaihs, talkin' ta Mistah Cartah, and she's lookin' fer ya."  
  
Michael's eyes grew wide in terror. Sally was downstairs, looking for him! "What's she look like?" he asked nervously.  
  
"Blonde coily 'air, didn't notice 'er eyes, wearin' a blue skirt an' white shoit, 'bout tall as Fish, skinny, a couple a bruises on 'er face an' arms…" supplied Snake.  
  
"'Ey Spot, dat sounds like yer sistah," noted Red.  
  
"It is. Whaddo I do?" asked Michael, beginning to panic.  
  
Cowboy, who had just gotten out of his fight with the newsie with hardly a scratch, said, "Come wit me. Hide out in Manhattan fer a while, till dis whole t'ing wit yer sistah blows ovah."  
  
Michael paused.  
  
"C'mon, Spot, make up yer mind! Ya ain't got much time. I can heah dat goyl yellin' all da way up heah, an' I don't t'ink dat ol' Mistah Cartah can keep dat goyl downstaihs fer much longah b'fore she comes up heah and finds ya."  
  
"All right, I'll go ta Manhattan!" said Michael.  
  
"Be careful, Spot," said Red.  
  
Michael nodded. "Bye, yous guys. Don't tell 'er ya know me."  
  
Cowboy grabbed his wrist. "C'mon, out da fire 'scape. We gotta hurry, er else dere's gonna be some nasty scabbahs on da street."  
  
Michael scrambled out the window and hurried down the fire escape. Cowboy took the lead and started running, causing his black cowboy hat to fall back off his head. "C'mon, Spot! Hurry up!" he shouted.  
  
They ran for what seemed like an hour, through the pitch-black streets of New York. Luckily, the streets were empty and quiet. And eventually, the two newsies found themselves in Manhattan, outside another building that said "Newsboys' Lodging House."  
  
"C'mon," said Cowboy. "'Eya Kloppman, how's it rollin'?" he asked casually. "Dis heah's Spot, 'e's from Brooklyn. 'Is sistah's aftah 'im, so 'e's gonna hide out heah fer a while, 'kay?"  
  
"All right, Cowboy. That's ten cents for tonight, and five cents each night after tonight," said Mr. Kloppman.  
  
With a sigh, Michael pulled out ten pennies. "Heah." Cowboy flipped a coin at Kloppman. "G'night, Kloppman." Cowboy casually put one arm around Spot and pulled him up the stairs.  
  
"'Ey, Skittery! Blink! Specs! Dutchy!" shouted Cowboy.  
  
"Specs ain't heah yet," said a tall, lanky boy with greasy black hair as he walked by.  
  
"'Ey, Bumlets, wheah's a free bunk, huh?" asked Cowboy.  
  
"Um… dere's one next ta Skittery. Y'know?"  
  
Cowboy nodded. "Dat's yer bunk, right dere, awright? Hey you guys! Dis heah's Spot… uh, what's yer last name 'gain?"  
  
"Conlon," said Michael confidently, glaring down each and every one of the Manhattan newsies.  
  
"Dis 's Spot Conlon, an' 'e's from Brooklyn."  
  
"'Ey, what's a Brooklyn newsie doin' heah?" asked Skittery.  
  
"It ain't nonna yer business why I'se heah. Y'just stay outta my way, awright?" asked Michael. He was sick of people telling him what do to, and some Manhattan newsie certainly wasn't going to.  
  
The newsies glanced at each other and returned to their cards and cigars. Michael undressed, climbed up onto his bunk, and fell asleep.  
  



	6. Part 6

Part VI  
---------  
  
The next morning, Michael and Cowboy headed out bright and early to sell the papes. Some of the newsies had already tried to pick fights with him, but Michael quickly showed them that it wasn't a wise idea to fight with Spot Conlon. Cowboy stuck by his side just to make sure that his sister- or anyone else, for that matter- didn't try to hurt him.  
  
One afternoon, when both the boys finished selling their afternoon papes fairly quickly, they were heading back towards the boarding house.  
  
"Yer a real good newsie, Spot, y'know dat? Who taught ya how ta improve da truth dat well?"  
  
"Nobody taught me. I jist know how ta do it," shrugged Michael.  
  
Three little girls in frilly dresses were jumping rope on the sidewalk, chanting, "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick." Two turned the rope and the third little girl jumped. She always missed after one turn of the rope.  
  
"Aww, dat ain't da way ta jump rope!" shouted Michael.  
  
"How do you know about jumping rope?" giggled the girls.  
  
"Cause I usedta have three sistahs, an' Day an' Stephie would make me toin da rope," answered Michael, with a trademark glare.  
  
"Well then, you jump," taunted one of the girls, planting her hands on her hip.  
  
Michael's mouth turned up in a sly smile, and he nodded slowly. The girls began turning the rope, and Michael jumped in and began jumping.  
  
"Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four," counted the girls. Michael made it all the way to one hundred and twenty-two before he got too tired to jump anymore.  
  
"What about your friend?" asked the boldest of the three girls.  
  
"Yeah, Jacky-boy, why doncha try jumpin'? I mean, yer in dey're lil jumpin' song an' all," laughed Michael, sitting down on the curb to catch his breath.  
  
Cowboy, not to be undone, said, "I'll bet I can git double what you did, Spot," and decided to try his luck.  
  
"Jack be nimble, Jack be-"  
  
After two turns, Jack tripped over the rope and fell, face down, in the dusty street.  
  
Michael burst out laughing, and nearly fell over. "Yer gonna get double what I got, huh?" he wheezed. "Geemaneez, dat's gotta be da funniest t'ing I'se evah seen!"  
  
Cowboy made a face at him. "Aww, shut yer mouth, Spot!"  
  
"Don't you tell me ta shut me mouth, Cowboy, or I'll soak ya! I sweah, I will!" challenged Michael. He leapt to his feet and put up his hands, ready to fight.  
  
"Awright, awright! Geez, ya don't have ta git all mad at me. I'se just kiddin'," lied Cowboy. "C'mon. Let's git back ta da lodgin' 'owse, huh?"  
  
When the two boys reached the lodging house, Red and Keys were sitting on the doorstep. The other newsies were gathered around in a half-circle, too nervous to go near the two Brooklyn boys.  
  
Michael pushed through the crowd. "Awright, awright, move it. 'Ey, Red! 'Ey, Keys! How's it rollin'?"  
  
"C'mon, Spotty, let's git back ta Brooklyn. Yer sistah hasn't been 'round fer a couple a days. We figure she fergot 'boutcha," said Red.  
  
"Awright. See ya 'round, Jack-be-nimble," taunted Michael, jumping away as Jack tried to tackle him. Michael chuckled and walked off with Red and Keys.  
  
  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
So Spot went back to Brooklyn, and everything was going well. He was making a lot of money, and he learned to play cards. Dealer, a boy several years older than Spot, taught him every game he knew, and Spot liked playing cards, but he was no gambler like Dealer. One night after winning, Spot was feeling particularly triumphant as he strolled down the street. He was eight years old and living a life he loved. Sally was out of the picture, as was Mr. Conlon. He still missed his family, especially Dana, but his job as a newsie kept him busy enough so he didn't have too much time to think about her.  
  
Spot turned the corner, whistling to himself. He saw two people standing in the road, a young woman and a young man, kissing and seeming very involved in each other.  
  
Oh geez, Spot thought, mentally gagging. He continued on his way and a moment later, screams were heard for blocks around. He turned and saw a fire wagon tearing away and two battered, bloody bodies in the road. Spot went over to the pair and picked up the man's black cane. It was heavy and solid, with a fancy gold top. He gently pushed the bodies apart and gasped.  
  
"Sally…" he whispered softly.  
  
"What happened?" asked a policeman, grabbing Spot's shoulder.  
  
"I t'ink dat fiah wagon ran dem ovah. Dey was standin' in da middle a da road, kissin'. Guess dey nevah hoid it comin'…"  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"I dunno da guy. Da goil 's Sally Wintahs. She woiks at da saloon, I guess she lives dere too…"  
  
After another minute or two of questioning, the policeman thanked Spot and handed him a quarter. Spot grinned and pocketed the coin. He headed off towards the pier to think, twirling the cane experimentally in his right hand.  
  
"Hey dere, Spotty, wheah'd ya get da cane?" crowed Snake.  
  
"Ain't none a yer business, Snakey," Spot cooly replied. He twirled it around his hand, stabbing the air in front of Snake.  
  
"Watch it!"  
  
"Ya goyl. I ain't anywheah near ya." Spot continued to draw figure-eights in the air before Snake's eyes.  
  
"Ya hit me wid dat t'ing, an' yer gonna be searchin' fer it at da bottom a da rivah."  
  
Spot poked him once, sending Snake tumbling backwards into the water. He leaned over the pier to utter one more comment: "Ya get what ya desoive, Snakey-boy."  
  



	7. Part 7

Part VII  
----------  
Another year passed slowly. Winter came and went, leaving a good deal of the newsies seriously ill and quite a few dead from the extreme cold. Spring came, bringing the beginning of the good selling season. It also brought many newsies from Manhattan, Queens, Harlem, the Bronx, and various other areas. It seemed the boys from other parts of New York never knew when to stay away. The Manhattan boys always taught them a lesson, though, and after a good soaking (sometimes literally, since Fish seemed to enjoy pushing boys off the pier) the boys stayed away.  
  
"So den I says, 'You ain't da great big man ya t'ink ya 're! I can soak ya in a second!'"  
  
"An' den we pushed 'im off da bridge!" laughed Red.  
  
"We showed dem who's boss," bragged Fish.  
  
"Wish I woulda been dere!" said Spot. The three best-known newsies in Brooklyn, if not all of New York, were strolling the streets of New York after meeting some girls that the two older boys knew. It wasn't quite late - Spot heard a clock chiming eleven o'clock. But the streets were quiet and empty.  
  
"Ya've got a reputation dere, Spotty, as da toughest in Brooklyn, even dough yer onna da youngest."  
  
"An' I'se gonna improve me reputation quite a bit, too," Spot assured.  
  
"I think this could be your chance," a menacing voice said. The distinct clink of brass knuckles against another metal object was heard, and a tall, husky man stepped out of the dim alley.  
  
The three boys looked at each other and gasped. Spot turned to run, but someone pushed him into the alley. From that moment on, Spot believed that the mercy of death would be better than the torturous pain he was being put through. He was beaten, slapped, punched, and kicked, and the process was repeated numerous times. When the goons left him alone for a few seconds, Spot could tell that Red and Fish were also in severe pain.  
  
A clock chimed twelve. "Let's leave them here to rot. Let the bulls tend to the street rats." Footsteps faded out, and Spot wearily lifted his head. He was surprised when the pain wasn't too great to bear. Sure, there would be bruises, but he was alive, wasn't he?  
  
"C'mon, fellas, let's go home, get cleaned up, get some sleep, eh?" Spot waited for a reply. "Fellas? Fish? Red?" Another full minute of silence. Well, dere prob'ly jest passed out er sumpin. "C'mon, Fish, Red, wake up. Yer alive, an' ya'll be fine." Spot counted to one hundred. "RED!" he screamed. He went over to the nearer boy. "Red?"  
  
One of his eyes rolled open. "Spotty…"  
  
"Red, c'mon, get up, let's go."  
  
"I can't…"  
  
"Shoah ya can, c'mon." Spot was desperate by now.  
  
"I can't. It hoits too much. Go, get cleaned up."  
  
"But ya'll come back ta da lodgin' house?"  
  
"Spot… I ain't comin' back. I'se leavin' right now…"  
  
"Whatd'ya mean, leavin'?" asked Spot in fear.  
  
Red looked up at the sky. "I'll see ya again some day, Spot."   
  
"Red?" Spot sniffled, tears running down his face.  
  
Red's eyes still stared at the sky, but he didn't speak or breathe.  
  
"Red!" wailed Spot. He leaned against the wall and sniffled. Then he stood up. "Fish?"  
  
Fish's eyes didn't open, but he spoke. "Take care a da boys fer me, Spotty."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Take care a dem. Ya'll be a great leadah some day…"  
  
"Red, Fish, ya can't leave me… no, don't leave me, yer all I got left, Red!" Spot leaned against the wall, crying for the death of everyone: Maria, Dana, Stephanie, his parents, and all the lost newsies.  
  
"Son. Sonny, move. Get out of the alley. C'mon, wake up."  
  
Spot stared at the police officer. It was not quite dawn. "Allright, allright, I'se goin'." Spot walked a block towards the lodging house before he realized what he had to do. He ran back a block to the alley and saw that at the end of the alley was a narrow little passage leading to the river. First he searched Fish's pockets for money or anything else valuable. Between the boys, Spot had about two dollars in his pockets, which would feed him for about a week.  
  
"T'anks, fellas," he whispered. Taking his time, he dragged the bodies to the riverbank. "G'bye, Red. G'bye, Fish. We'll all miss ya… I'll, uh, try ta be a good leadah an' take yer place, Fish. An' Red, nobody could evah take yer place. Ya were like a brudda ta me, but I nevah got ta tell ya, an' I'se sahry. Remembah me… an' say hi ta Dana fer me. Sorry I can't bury ya da right way, but all da newsies in Noo Yawk don't got da money ta bury even one a ya. 'Sides, ya liked da rivah, I figured it's fittin'. Well… g'bye." He quickly looked around and regretfully pushed the bodies into the river. He wiped away a tear, then remembered that they were truly gone. He was the new leader of Brooklyn. He straightened his cap, grabbed his cane, and set off to continue living his life.  
  



	8. Last Part

Part VII  
----------  
  
"No, no, put da bunks dis way! It's like it was in da udda lodgin' house…"  
  
"Dis ain't da udda lodgin' house! It boined down! Dere's nuthin' ya can do 'bout it!"  
  
"But we can make da new one look like da old one!"  
  
"What 're ya tawkin' about, cheesehead?"  
  
"Who you callin' cheesehead, ya lousy bum?"  
  
"'Ey 'ey 'ey, break it up, break it up. What're ya lousy bums fightin' 'bout now?"  
  
"Snake wants da new place ta look jest like da old one!"  
  
"An' Keys wants it ta be diff'rent!"  
  
"What's wrong wit da old one? We all loved it dere. It was our home."  
  
"Ain't it time fer a change?"  
  
"Change is nevah good, Keys. Trust me."  
  
Keys rolled his eyes, and Snake grinned. "See? Spot says change is bad, so keep it da old way!"  
  
"Fine," said Keys.  
  
Spot gazed around. "Dis place is nice. Betta dan da last one. An' it's biggah." He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "Geez, it's hot in heah. What'dya say we go outside?"  
  
"Shoah!" Keys and Snake gladly moved the bunk bed into place and scrambled down the stairs, racing to be the first onto the pier and into the water.  
  
Spot climbed up to a tall post. Dis was Fish's spot… he was always up heah. He liked bein' above da rest. An' Red would always stand down dere… Geez, I miss 'em. It's been… six yeahs. Geez. Seems like yestahday. Not much had happened in the past six years. Spot just took life one day at a time, living life to its fullest and rarely having to worry about a thing. He outsold everybody, soaked anybody who doubted him, and went his own way.  
  
Actually, he was alone most of the time. No girls were ever featured in his life, except for the occasional fling when he was feeling really down in the dumps. He was friendly with all the newsies, but he didn't really have any true friends. Spot sold alone, ate alone, walked alone, fought alone.  
  
If Fish an' Red were still heah, I wouldn't be alone, he thought. Well, we'll be tagethah again some day, right fellahs? An' Fish, ya'd be proud a me. I'se takin' good care a da boys. I look out fer all da new guys, pay fer anybody dat ain't got da money… I'se a great leadah. An' ev'ry newsie in Noo Yawk knows who I am. I improved me reputation lots! I still miss yous guys… ya were da best.  
  
Suddenly, Spot looked over and saw Jack Kelly walking over. "Well if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick," he said slowly as he said his silent goodbyes to his lost friends. It was time to get on with living his life.  
  



End file.
